Inclined to Be
by S.N. Rainsworth
Summary: "I do not belong here," says the handsome stranger. "Please remember that." / three parts. Semi-AU. Author's Note with additional info at the end.
1. Part I

Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiromu Arakawa  
>Harry Potter © JK Rowling<p>

**Written for **Laora (_Fuocoso_) **for her birthday. **(Have a good one, love. ;])

* * *

><p><strong>Inclined to Be<br>**_"Set fire to the rain." _

**Part I. **_  
><em>

* * *

><p>"I do not belong here," says the handsome stranger. "Please remember that."<p>

He is polite and quiet, but for some reason Dumbledore cannot see him that way. The strength in the way he moved and the reasoning in which he spoke told the old, wizened man that this was a man that was once full of life, full of flame. What had happened, Dumbledore can only reason and guess, but he will never know. This man is older than he is in terms of mentality; no doubt he will be offended if Dumbledore even tried to search in the large depths of his mind.

Edward Flamel had come into his office one day, battered, bruised, splotches of red on his face and arms and hands, but expression kept perfectly blank. And then, calmly, he told Dumbledore that he was here to kill the one named Tom Riddle, sent by a higher being that was keeping the balance straight—the same balance that Tom Riddle tipped.

At first Dumbledore had been shocked; after all, such a tale! But then he remembered who he was, how much he had seen, how much he was possibly not called impossible, the man that changed his life so long ago. And he had given Edward a chance and believed him. Dumbledore believed, to this day, that it was the smartest decision he had ever made. (And he had made a lot of smart decisions—even though he had made more stupid ones as well.) And he knew that he would do anything for the man that made him the way he was now.

"You are always welcome," Dumbledore says quietly back. "Come. I shall introduce you as a new member to the Order."

Golden eyes, bright and always churning with the molten, golden river of knowledge, blinks and him and then he nods slowly. "Will there be an uprising at my arrival?" he asks softly, knowing exactly what will happen without him having to say it aloud. "After all, I still look physically like a teenager."

"You are much older," Dumbledore replies. "That is all that matters."

That answer seems to satisfy him. Edward's thin lips quirk up slightly.

12, Grimmauld Place has some resemblance to it's name; grimy and covered in dust, it is a old and weathered place, dilapidating in the absence of the sun. In the dim light, Edward's hair shines almost luminously; Dumbledore notices, and sees that his eyes do the same, like a healthy glow around his whole being. _An unearthly being indeed. _

He swerves past all the security wards that were charmed from before; effortlessly causes all defenses to stand down before setting them up again, leaving Edward and himself in their daze. It was at times like these when he truly loved magic; Edward, behind him, walks with precise and measures steps, silent as the night. He reminds Dumbledore painfully of Severus, with his actions, yet somehow Edward is more...interesting. Because he was not of this world. Because he defied laws of logic. Dumbledore was simply curious, and his curiosity was a dangerous thing. But it did not mean that he did not trust the blonde.

When Dumbledore enters the all-purpose dining room, he was met with smiles and lit up, hopeful faces. The Order members prayed and hoped that he would be here with great news, even better ones than knowing that Harry had gotten off scot-free on the little Dementor escapade in Surrey. They were already in the good mood. Dumbledore sees how their faces flicker to the darkly clothed form of Edward as he turns up beside him.

"Any more news, Albus?" Moody grunts out, looking purposefully at the teenage lad. He does not seem to like what was going on one bit; Dumbledore doubted that he would like it even more afterward. At the table is Harry and his friends, some of the Weasleys, Lupin and Tonks, Sirius. They're here and he supposes that it'll be easier for everyone in the end this way.

"Not for the Ministry and the movement of Death Eaters, no," he replies cautiously, "But I do have someone to introduce to you."

Now, all eyes are on Edward. He smiles, a dimple at the corner of his lips. "Hullo," he says, voice accented with English, French, and German all in one.

"This is Edward, my apprentice." Suspicion turns to shock. "He has also asked to be a member of the Order. Harry, Hermione, Ron—you'll be seeing him at school next month, following me around." At this, there are a few chuckles.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all." Edward tilts his head slightly in a gesture of innocence and continues, "I wish to learn as much as I can under everyone's guidance."

_And kill Tom Riddle. _

"You look very young for an apprenticeship," Lupin speaks up, hesitant. "Much less to join the Order." Because, even in their stunned silence, Fred and George look about ready to blow up in protest. Can't have that happened. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen," Edward replies, still smiling that unnerving smile of his.

Before outbreak starts, Dumbledore cut in with, "He is a special case." His face is grave and there is no longer a twinkle in his eye; Dumbledore's final decision with Edward being here is final. No one is to go against his decision. "Edward is much more mature than his years, and I have come to enjoy his presence and knowledge; even _I _am learning new things!" With a chuckle, the light-heartedness is returned to his voice. Edward shoot him an amused look. "He is to stay here for a week or two to gain some familiarity with the Order Headquarters. Is there any more room, Molly?"

The redheaded woman, who was previously staring intently at the blonde, jerks and flushes. "O-of course! Come dear, let me show you to a room...Fred! Go the closet and get a spare for Edward, won't you dear?..." Her murmurs become silent and commands run throughout the room.

Dumbledore places his old, weathered hand on Edward's shoulder, who looks up at him slightly. There is a conversation of a few words in a foreign language, and then Dumbledore nods and Apparates out of the room with a loud _crack. _

There is silence.

Then, "May I know your names?"

A brunette girl shakes her head, curls flying across her face. "Sorry," she says, abashed. "That was rude of us. My name is Hermione Granger. You _are _very young to advance into apprenticeship already." She stares at him like he's some sort of exhibit, exotic and shiny. Ron flushed a dark pink.

"Ron Weasley," he mutters, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"Harry Potter." says the dark haired boy, curious and somewhat confused, staring at the teenager that was only a year older than him yet somehow reminded him of Dumbledore as well. _No wonder he's the professor's apprentice. Have to ask Hermione what those are, anyways..._ And then two more Weasleys introduced themselves, and then Lupin, Tonks, Moody, a few others while Edward stood there, not at all uncomfortable.

"Well, Albus forgot to introduce me properly." He bends down slightly, bowing in a formal manner. "Edward Hohenheim Flamel, at your service." And with that white lie out in the open, he smiles once more—_just the way he knows that will fool almost everyone—_and straightens himself out, just to be met with surprised faces once more.

"Flamel," Hermione repeats, sounding slightly strained, "As in, the great Nicholas Flamel?"

In response, his smile becomes a tad bit more wicked.

.:.

The thing they learn about Edward Flamel is that he is immaculate in every way.

From the golden cuffs of the long sleeved, turtleneck black shirt that he wears under dark, draped ropes that move along with him like shadows, to the black trousers he wears, tucked just so into buckled combat boots—symmetrical on each side. It shows in the way that he tugs his gloves just so, to stay at a certain angle on his wrist, the only other color on him other than black and gold. How he ties his hair at the nape of his neck loosely, yet not a hair is out of place, especially the ones that frame his handsome and almost regal face.

Nothing about Edward Flamel is out of place. He is polite and witty and sharp, always dressed in the same garb, always with the same gloves, the same black ribbon that keeps golden locks away from his face. Nothing escapes his eye and no one escapes his notice. He is awake earlier than anyone else in the house and he goes to sleep later than everyone else, but he is always sitting at the table with a book in his hands, written in an indiscernible language.

They know better not to ask. He is, after all, _Dumbledore's apprentice. _Of course he'd be slightly off, they'd all suppose. No one questioned his presence. Even without the wizard there, he was almost like Dumbledore himself, just as he was a teen. Perhaps not exactly, but like it, and the uncanny resemblance gathered respect for the blonde boy.

He is hard to approach, with his button nose constantly stuck in those thick books written in another language. No one has talked to him much except for Mrs. Weasley and occasionally Snape, whenever he came over. It seemed as though they shared the same passion; potions. Or, at least, for Edward it was all types of knowledge. Hermione is astounded at how much the blonde knows.

So, so decides that she _must _talk to him. For the sake of her own curious mind.

Right now is a good time, she thinks, watching him as he turns another page with a gloved finger. His posture is perfect, as to be expected, and he is so thoroughly interested in his book, Hermione finds that he can't even see his surroundings.

Hermione approaches him cautiously and sit next to him. He doesn't notice her presence. "Um...Edward?" she asks, hesitant.

To her surprise, there is a soft, "_Ja?_" in return.

At first she blinks in the change of language, but then remembers his accent—it wasn't fully English. So, instead, she bites her lip, taking this as a good sign, and continues, making sure she doesn't lose her strength. "I-I was wondering if you could tell me some of the theories that you have about arithmetic...I saw you talking to the professor about it yesterday and—"

"_Mein temps ne heir nicht verschwendet werden gaspillé ici._" he mumbles back, and she blinks, realizing that he must be speaking in his mother tongue. But it's like no other language she has heard of—like German and other more fancier language, French, maybe? Mixed together. Odd. Was he biracial?

It was possible, looking at his coloring. She has never seen someone with _gold _eyes before. "Um..." she says, lost for words. "Sorry, what was that?"

"_Mein temps ne heir nicht—_" he cuts himself up, looks up at her with annoyance in his gaze. This is the first time he has expressed any emotion other than some sort of sinister plotting or an unnerving calmness, the same presence as Dumbledore, and the scowl on his face seems almost—almost—_normal—_

And it immediately melts away from his face. For the second time today, Edward shows a different emotion; his cheeks color red slightly in embarrassment, and Hermione can't help but think that red is _such _a good color on him.

"S-sorry," he stutters slightly, sounding and looking more human that he had in the two days he had been here. "You were saying something?"

Hermione sits there, surprised, and then shakes her head. "Nothing that can't be discussed later," she says, but there is already something else on her mind. He barely gives her another time of day; instead, he stares for a moment, golden eyes searching her and so, so lost and empty that it brings shivers. And then he looks back down to his book, frowns, and says, "Alright then."

She cannot help but feel something break.

.:.

_"I'm supposed to be dead," he breathes, staring at the pale skin of his two flesh hands; one scarred and roughened with years of usage, the other numbed by the new feeling of...well, _feeling. _Edward licks his dry lips, in total awe, not even caring about the large wound in his chest cavity or the dripping blood, leaking his life force away. No, all he could feel was the miracle that was his own _body.

_"You're not dead, brother," says a soft, hesitant voice. Edward's head snaps up, recognizing that lilt immediately. He sees the bony form of his little brother, Alphonse, so skinny that he could see the lines of his cheekbones and the outline of his ribs, but that didn't matter because it was _Alphonse, _Al, sweet Al, right in front of him—_

_Jerking, Edward makes a move to reach him, go out and touch him, but another voice interrupts. _

_"Ah ah ah," A physical force stops him; invisible, but Edward can feel it. Alphonse's face changes into one of horror. "We can't have you reuniting with your brother without a proper price, now can we, Mr. Al-che-mist?"_

_Edward grits his teeth and jerks back his arm, ignoring the twinge of years of no usage. "Truth," he snarled out in a sort of half-respected, half-frightened and semi-grudging manner. "What could you possibly want this time?" _

_The being called Truth, a vague white outline of a simple person, simply pops in. As soon as he comes closer, not walking but rather floating on a torrent of emotions___—_emotions that run through Edward like a flowing river with no dam_—_a strange buzzing begins to fill his ears. It unnerves him, the way that they seem to become louder, and louder, at first a whisper and then a scream. Edward winces, and Truth seems to grin. Wherever he was, he seemed to omit a sort of ghastly feeling; Edward couldn't explain it properly, but it was almost like something was tearing him apart from the inside. _

_"Equivalent Exchange. In exchange for one thing, something of equal value must be lost." Truth whispers, stopping. Alphonse's form starts to disappear; Edward could see it in the way that he seems to fade out of existence, the horror and the panic flashing in his bottle-green eyes. _

_"N-no!" Edward shouts, reaching out again, but he is stopped once more. The breath is stolen from his lungs in an icy cold grip, but nonetheless Alphonse stops fading for a moment. Edward glares at Truth with all the courage he can muster; it quickly faded away, however, when the sweet face of his mother stared back at him. He knew that this was a trick. God, he knew! It was all a stupid game of Truth's that he would be coerced into playing and that he should've just...just _resisted_—_

_But Edward was only sixteen. And he was desperate for at least a shred of familiarity in the past years. So instead, a small and desperate, "Mom...?" pass his lips. _

_Trisha Elric smiles and reaches out to touch her son's face. "Edward...how much you've grown, you and Alphonse." Her eyes flicker to the scrawny boy, who stares at her with something akin to awe in his gaze. "My sweet boys..." _

_Edward allows himself to be touched by his mother; her warm hands, her warm hugs, her warm smiles. But when he hand touches his skin, Edward feels like something is burning him; he screams out in the unbearable pain. Trisha recoils her hand, something akin to horror and understanding in her eyes. Alphonse shouts something endlessly, in between the moment and not being able to stop. _

_He falls, feeling disgusted with himself, feeling like he has lost some of his humanity somewhere deep within him. _

.:.

He does not sleep. He does not need sleep, but it still reminds him every day about the thing that he is; not alive, not dead. Forever in a state to serve the great circle, to bring balance into the world until he is not needed anymore. He is empty; there is nothing inside of him. He knows that in the last hundred years he had not been to his own world, he has changed; slowly, life started to leak out of him until he was left a empty husk of his former self.

At first, it showed in the smiles he gave; instead of blowing up, exploding into words and insults like he usually did, he just smiled. Smiled, because he knew that it wasn't worth it anymore. That nothing could hurt him, so what was the use of feelings, of feeling, when there was nothing inside of him, nothing worth _feeling_?

He is the opposite of his father. While his father chose his own path, had millions of thoughts and voices raging like an everlasting inferno inside of him, he is still. He is calm. He has learned to be empty, a one among millions, that one that stands to be nothing among nothing, the one that has been destined to be just _it. _And to be just _it _for as long as he would keep himself to be.

Edward stands on top of a lamppost, far away from the headquarters, looking over the city known as London. It's great, advanced buildings and high structure, the people that walk by without speaking to each other, strangers in their own world. He remembers Risembool and their warm smiles, their hospitality, their habit of welcoming anyone and everyone in their warm embrace of rolling green fields. A smile of his own flits across his face, lost in the memories of past.

Wind blows viciously, causing blond hair to whip back and forth and robes to be pressed against his body. Yet he still stands on top of the tip of the lamppost, like a ghost in midair.

"It's cold today," says Albus Dumbledore, standing beneath him. "You should be back at headquarters, Nicholas."

Edward gives a small chuckle. "My name is Edward, Albus. You'd do better to remember; after all, I _am _your apprentice."

"And I was _your _student first," Albus reminds gently. They are both invisible to the world, covered in a cloak of magic that shimmers around them. "And so, you will always be Nicholas to me. You haven't told me how you still remain the age of sixteen after a hundred or so years."

The blond whistles. "A magician never reveals his secrets," he teases, grinning. It melts into a small smile, gold eyes matching with the red sunset in the background as he looks at Albus. "But I am not a magician. I am an alchemist." Edward closes his eyes. "An alchemist." _Not even human, _something whispers in his mind.

"The real Nicholas Flamel was born almost five hundred years ago," Albus said quietly, blue eyes that never lost it's youth staring up at his old mentor. "Died, never knowing how to create the Philosopher's Stone."

Edward hummed.

"I was still a kid. And then one day, you show up helping me with Ariana. And all you said was that you loved children; loved to shape their future, loved to see their smiles. And that was why you helped me."

"It's true," Edward murmurs. "It still is."

Albus continues on, his voice once senile now like a lost child. "Years later, I find you again. Just out of my thirties, I help you create the Philosopher's Stone once we met at a festival, bonding over knowledge and the mysteries it possesses. You were so determined; you were my role model, Nicholas. I wanted to be like you, do the same amazing things you did, make the decisions you did."

Edward did not correct him this time, instead choosing to look off far into the distance. "You should not be like me, Albus," he says softly. "I am not as polished and perfect as you think."

"_Because we are only human, and humans make mistakes,_" Albus recites quietly. "That's what you told me. But you are not human, are you, Nicholas? You destroyed the Philosopher's Stone after I told you that it was not being used for it's most righteous purposes, even though you gave it to me to safe keep. All the while, you still do not look any different. When I am already old and have made decisions that I am paying for, you show up again, asking me to fill in the favour."

The blond actually looks at Albus now, an unreadable emotion in his eyes. "I cannot tell you, Albus." he says, an echo in his voice, a bitterness that Albus can't really place. "I am grateful that you helped me. I'm grateful that you still believe in me." Edward closes his eyes and smiles. Something about him is distinctly empty, Albus thinks. "But...I am not to be trusted. I am a being that cannot...cannot be part of...part of..." he trails off, shaking his head.

Edward jumps off the lamppost, falling down with ease. Even though Dumbledore is taller, the one who looks wiser, the one who is much more sought after and looked at, he stares at Edward like a lost child.

"Who are you?" he says, voice hoarse. "Who are you, Nicholas?"

Instead of answering like he wanted to, Edward simply looks away. "I am nothing. I do not belong in this world."

.:.

_to be continued._


	2. Part II

Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiromu Arakawa  
>Harry Potter © JK Rowling<p>

**Written for **Laora (_Fuocoso_) **for her birthday. **(Have a good one, love. ;])

* * *

><p><strong>Inclined to Be<br>**_"I'm not one of those that can easily hide." _

**Part II. **_  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>Edward recoils into himself, trying to fight off the pain long enough to keep his breathing back to normal. He feels disgusted at his own reaction; moving away from his mother, seeing her sad and heartbroken eyes, Alphonse gathered in some sort of invisible grip that he could not distinguish. He was supposed to <em>help them, _dammit! And yet...and yet, he knows that there is nothing he could do. His life right now is not in his hands. So instead of getting up like his brother expects him to, Edward stays still on the non existent floor and breathes as best as he can. _

_"She's not living." Truth says monotonously. "She cannot hurt you. Physically, that is. Surely you know that, Mr. Alchemist." _

_Edward rasps out, "Get the fuck away from me." Because even if she cannot hurt him physically, her very existence burns him. Her memory is stained with the red of her blood, of his blood, of Al's blood, that he could never seem to wash off his hands. Trisha lets out a sob, and something in Edward's stomach twists; he ignores it. He ignores Al's desperate calls of his name. _

_Then, suddenly, the pain is gone. _

_"She hurts you as much as you want her to hurt you," Truth informs him. "You have soiled your memory of your mother. How sad, human beings are. Stupid." And then, as if he was being controlled, Edward found himself standing up and staring at the familiar face of someone else that he once loved; his father. Just a child, exactly like him,with the same eyes and facial structure, boring through him with the Truth's emptiness. _

_"But you are not completely stupid," his father—_it's Truth, just Truth, he's mind fucking you_—says, moving back as Edward is transfixed. His gaze wanders toward Alphonse, who is frozen stiff. Edward follows it tentatively. Immediately, Al's eyes widen. _

_"No," he whispers, gaze ashen. "No. No, brother, don't you dare!" _

_"Of course, there is a price for your brother," Truth_—__their father?_—continues, as if Alphonse had not spoken at all. "There is always a price. The question is, Mr. Alchemist, if you are willing to pay it this time." _

_"Anything," Edward whispers as he stares intently at his little brother, even though his voice is hoarse. "Anything." _

_"Good." Truth replies, sounding just a smidgeon satisfied. Not much has changed at all. "Then your price is that there is no price at all." _

_And with a flick of his hand, Alphonse vanishes. _

_It takes a moment for the whole thing to sink in, but when it does, Edward screams. "What have you done! WHAT DID YOU DO? WHERE'S AL?" Before Truth can answer, Edward's expression melts into one of horror. "Oh god, was I too late? Did I do something wrong? Oh no, Al, Al, Al..." _

_"He is back in your world," Truth says, causing Edward's head to snap toward him, gazing at him with those omnipresent eyes. "You have payed the price, after all." _

_"Y-you..." Edward stutters, confused. "You just said that there was no price!" He is confused. And because he is confused, he cannot seem to think properly. _This wasn't supposed to happen. _His thoughts are a random jumble. He feels weak; so weak. _

_"That is because you have payed the price," Truth starts patiently, "By agreeing to a deal." _

_A lump forms in Edward's throat. "D-deal? What deal?" _

_Truth_—__Hohenheim?_—cocks his head. "Well, if you just payed the price, then when you'd be done with the task I'm about to give you, you would return to your homeland. And a deal is just the way to keep you working for me." Without letting Edward think about what he has just said, he goes on explaining, "We can't have that. Oh no, if you fail in our deal that you have just agreed to, you will loose everything. Your brother, your memories, you life. You will belong to the Gate, return to it. Fair?" _

_By the way Edward saw it, it wasn't fair. If he failed, then it was the end. If he won, then...maybe he'd get to see his brother, his friends, but Truth was also mentioning that he would not stop, that he wouldn't be returning. But where else would he go? There was no way to win, become the victor. But he had agreed. And just thinking about Alphonse_—_sweet Al, back in his own body_—_Edward let a state of calm overtake him. _

_"Fair," he says, even though he doesn't mean it and his voice shakes. "What's the deal?" _

.:.

Edward sits at the end of the table, away from all the blabber and the chatter that surrounds him like a blanket in the warm house of Grimmauld Place. In his hands are a thick book, written in his own familiar handwriting, coded in Amestrian. He had left all these books behind in the Wizarding World when he had to leave, and he supposed Albus must've found them. Kept them too, and in good shape; they did not look a day old. He had to thank his old student one day. It had been so long since he last read his own language. How much it reminded him of home...not a day went by did he not ache for Risembool's green fields. Many thoughts plagued his mind. Did Mustang ever become Fuhrer? Did Al go on and become a teacher like he'd always wanted? Did Winry get married, forget about him and his horrid past, have a normal family and kids?

It hurt to think about all the time. It didn't mean that he didn't stop. His memories of home burned brighter than all the other memories of all the other worlds, the thing that kept him going. He didn't know when they would stop and he would just fall apart. Perhaps he would take this book along with him the next time he leaves.

He hears a shuffling, and suddenly there are two people sitting with him in his little corner; Remus Lupin, the man with the golden eyes (just like him) and Sirius Black, the owner of the lovely home they were currently in. Edward raises an eyebrow. "May I help you?"

"You looked lonely here, mate," says Sirius. "You're only a wee teen. It's not fair that the others leave you out of their jolly conversation_—_thought I suppose you don't really talk about the same stuff regular teenage boys do, huh?"

Unknown to them, there is a third listener in the conversation; the side of Edward's lips quirk. Hermione feels her own smile forming, but keeps it down as the blond answers in a semi-friendly tone. "Not really," he says, motioning to his book. "Unless they think about the theoretical relativity of life and beyond."

Sirius and Remus share a look. "Well, we know a girl who thinks about that boffin stuff," Sirius waves away. He gives Edward a large smile. "Why don't you join us, kiddo?"

It makes Edward feel young again, being called kiddo. His smile turns into a sad one; the other two notice. He is not young, he knows, but if he could be again he would trade all the time in the world to correct his mistakes; starting from the one where he tried to do the impossible. He knows that it is not possible, however, and instead shakes his head. "I don't think they'd like my company much," he replies. "I'm not...the best person to get along with, I guess."

And with that, he stares back into his book, folding more into himself and his bubble.

_You can't do anything,_ Remus mouths to Sirius. He looks sad, and if Sirius can still read him right, just a bit nostalgic. Was Dumbledore like this as a kid? Introverted, unsocial, so in depth with his books...living out a lonely existence. Maybe perhaps this reminds Sirius of Remus when he was a kid. Maybe it's because he can't stand seeing such a person that burns brightly, emptily, all alone.

They walk away and slowly forget about Edward Flamel and his lonely tendencies.

.:.

When they reach Hogwarts a month later, nothing more is known about Dumbledore's curious apprentice. There are, however, much more greater news; it seems as thought the Order had been receiving mysterious help. Death Eaters were being slaughtered, picked off one by one, their numbers dwindling. No one knows why, and soon the Ministry's claims that Voldemort was not yet in power might just come true.

Dumbledore knows who's doing it is.

He leads his students back to the Gryffindor tower; Fred, George, Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Hermione had all accompanied him to the great castle to stay there for about a week more before the school term would officially start. Originally, he planned for them to stay in the Order HQ (Hogwarts was no longer safe) but with the arrival of Edward, he needed to change his plans.

He still had no idea what the golden haired man wanted from here. It seemed like it was only time before he would leave again, when Dumbledore would lose his favourite mentor. And this time, feeling like a little schoolboy, Dumbledore wanted answers. He wanted to learn, and he was going to get these answers to the mysterious questions that surrounded Edward (Nicholas?) Flamel (Elric?).

When he returns to his office, he sees Edward there, a certain look in his eyes that Dumbledore has seen before, but can't quite place. "Hello, Albus." he says softly. "I think your students are trying to make me feel less of an invalid. You've raised them well."

Dumbledore doesn't admit that he feels a sort of happy glow at this. "I've raised them as well as I could," he says. "And you've raised me the same way. You always were like an older brother, Nicholas." Dumbledore has slipped into calling him his old name when no one else is around. That is all he knows the golden eyed man by.

A genuine grin, one that Edward had not worn in years, splits across his face. Dumbledore feels pride at what he's done; this would be the second time that Edward had ever smiled at him truly, so happily. He imagines what years of immortality has done to him, as he himself was living for over a hundred. But he cannot fathom it—Edward has been alive for half a century.

"Thank you," he replies. "You don't know how much that means to me," he adds, seeing the look on Dumbledore's face. "But look at you. The first time I saw you...you were just a kid. And then a young man. Now, you are older than I am, far older." A wistful look comes into his eye. "How the time goes by..."

Dumbledore does not wish to interrupt, but he cannot smother the burning flames of his curiosity. "Nicholas, can you...can you tell me how you came to be?" he asks, somewhat shy and abashed. Edward blinks. "My time is ending," he says softly. "You were always the person I looked up to, even more than Grindelwald. And you know how much..." Pain filters in, an age old pain. "How much he meant to me, as a person and friend. Do an old man a favour. I want to understand."

Edward regards him for a moment, before saying, "You always wanted to understand, Albus," he chuckles. "But I suppose you do have a right to know, don't you? You were always my favourite student, always eager to learn..." he trails off, his eyes looking down toward the ring on Albus' finger, sensing the power churning inside it. "You have made some bad decisions, and some good ones."

"Let's not hope that this is a bad one, eh?" Dumbledore replies lightly, waving his hand forward toward the pensieve kept in his office, ready to look over all his memories, ready to unravel the folds of his master's past.

He walks forward as Edward takes out a long, worn wand from his pocket; he presses it to his temple, closes his eyes and brings out a silver mist from his head, dropping it into the large cauldron. It bubbles in the mist. Edward nods for Albus to go in, just like that, just as easy.

They both disappear, sucked into memories, unknown that Hermione Granger was behind the marble door and had heard the whole thing.

.:.

_Edward fell on his bottom, rubbing his head gently as a dark scowl flitted across his face. "No fair!" he yelled, his voice carrying over to where Alphonse laid on the grass, falling over from too much laughing. A blonde girl sat with them, her hand over her pink-lipped mouth. They were both giggling at him, how he had managed to fall over while still standing. _

_"Oh, admit it Ed," said the blonde girl. "You totally fell by yourself. Guess you don't have such great balance after all, huh?" she stuck her nose in the air proudly, and the cherry-faced that looked like his brother giggled. _

_"It's true, brother," he said. "Come over here! I wanna play hide-and-seek." _

_"I don't know if we should be doing this," a eight year old Alphonse whispers. "What if it doesn't work?" _

_Edward's face is illuminated by candle, a grim frown, too old and large for such a small boy. "It has to," he murmured, "It's the only way we can bring our mother back." _

_Screaming. Screaming. Screaming, tearing apart, end it all. _

_"Doomed. Destined. This is your fate." _

Our fate.

_us. _

_"I'm so sorry, Al." _

_"BROTHER!" _

_"...hundreds of years..." _

_"...world war II..." _

_"...Nazis? No, we're Jews..." _

_"...barely survived..." _

_"...civil war, horrible, in our own..." _

_"...Edward, that you?..."_

_"...Nicholas?..." _

_"...Edward..." _

_"...who are you?" _

_"Who are you?" _

_(_who am I?_) _

.:.

"Nicholas Flamel," Hermione whispers to herself. "He's Nicholas Flamel."

She knows that she should not be surprised. But she is. Nicholas Flamel, the great alchemist that managed to live forever from the moment he was born. Hermione knows that he shouldn't be possible; after all, Nicholas Flamel only had enough time left before he rearranged his things in order...or at least, that was what Dumbledore said. But lately, Dumbledore has been keeping things for them, so why should she believe in the things he said?

She thinks over the conversation she has accidentally eavesdropped on. It was starting to make more sense than ever to her; why Edward was such an old-fashioned person, why he spoke with an accent and why he read those books written in another foreign, possibly dead language. He wasn't of this age. He wasn't of any age. He was Dumbledore's mentor, probably knowing him for a long time, and he had not aged a day since.

An epiphany hits Hermione; _he has been sixteen since the day he discovered immortality. _

She finds herself doubting this. The books say that Nicholas Flamel had been in his late forties when he had discovered the Elixir of Life. But then again, books lied. They hid things. And there weren't many books on Nicholas Flamel in the first place.

_The wicked smile. He wouldn't answer when she asked him if he was who he was. The truth, not the lie. _

Hermione's head hurts, but she cannot stop her heart from beating in her chest. Another part of the conversation makes it's way into her mind.

_I don't have much time left. Do an old man a favour. Please let me understand. _

So there were things even Dumbledore could not understand. Even he could not escape death's ready and waiting clutches. Tears prickle the corner of her eyes, because she knows that she has allowed herself to enter a realm that she cannot possibly understand; because she knew the horrid truth that Dumbledore, their long time mentor and friend, was going to die.

She wished that she had decided not to walk to this door.

.:.

Dumbledore stares at the things he's seen, the wonders of the alchemist and teacher that he once knew. Edward stares at him, searching, as bits and pieces of his memory is shown to the only student he had ever appreciated, ever really cared about. Even though Dumbledore is old, even though his time is nearing—_Edward can see something physically sucking the soul out of him—_it was the least he could do.

"I had no idea..." Dumbledore chokes out, tears leaking the corner of his old eyes that have once been assured had seen everything. "Oh, Nicholas—Edward, I'm so sorry..."

Edward smiles morosely. "I have had many names, Albus," he says softly. "And Nicholas Flamel is the most well known. I have been part of the Wizarding World more times than I'd like to, and...who knows how many more times I will be a part of it until I can finally go back to my home?" he chuckles. "I've realized this entity of mine, accepted it. I have traded my life for my brothers...I do not regret it."

"You are the slave of a horrible being," Dumbledore says, adamant. "How can you let it control you? You're brilliant, Nicholas."

The blond stares at him with something much older, much wiser beyond his age in his eyes. "Knowledge cannot fill the hole that I have inside of me," he murmurs. "You cannot replace the comfort of another human being's touch, their presence." Edward closes his eyes and his lips quirk up in an emotionless grin. "But then again, I am not human. I do not belong in this world."

It was like a chant, Dumbledore mused. Like a constant reminder he had to tell himself to assure himself that when he left, it would not hurt as much. Something inside Albus lurched. He did not like seeing his mentor like this. Edward would move on, continue to live the life of a wanderer, "fix" the imbalances of the world until all was finally well. And he understood why Edward was here, finally. _Tom Riddle. _

The prophecy did not matter. What could the words of one unhinged woman do against the word of an all-powerful man, one who was sent from the carnation of God himself? Nothing. Tom Riddle will die. Dumbledore knew that he would leave this world in peace, knowing what he needed to know, satisfied with the knowledge he had gained.

But Edward wouldn't.

"You do," Dumbledore says, voice a mere whisper, stepping forward and leaning down, hugging the blond man. Edward stands stock still in shock. "You do, no matter what you say, not matter how many times you try to convince yourself. _You do belong in this world._"

_"Brother, you'll always belong here." _

And despite himself, Edward cannot help but hug back, hug the man he once knew as a small little blond boy back in Godric's Hollow who wanted to know everything in world.

.:.

_A blond man stands at the gates of a large community, staring at the beautiful trees that give off a golden light when the sun hits it in the skies. He does not notice anything else, being cloaked from head to toe in black, the only colour on him being the gold of his hair and the light tan of his Caucasian skin. Every day, he just stands there, staring up at the sky as if he could somehow grow wings and fly. _

_Albus has always been mystified by this man. He was so mysterious, different. And he did not act like the others in Godric's Hollow, where their hospitality and kindness could choke you to submission. He was a stranger, standing off to the side, in his own world. His own little dark world. _

_But Albus was not to be scared away by him. His whole family was like this, slightly unhinged. He was not scared of the blond man. (Well, maybe just a little bit.) But it didn't mean that he couldn't talk to him. So, one day he mustered up his courage and went to the blond man, whom at closer glance didn't look older than his young adult years. He did not notice Albus walking up to him, so slowly, Albus tugged on the end of his robes for attention. _

_The blond stared down, slightly surprised, his eyes the same colour as his golden-stranded hair. Albus was in shock, staring at their beautiful colour for a while, before the man smiles at him softly and bends down to his level. "Hello. Is there something you needed?" _

_Albus' throat suddenly constricts. Shyly, he says, "This is for you, mister." _

_Here, he holds out one of his mum's home-made pumpkin pastries, sweet and cinnamon flavoured and told to be the best in all of Godric's Hollow. It's probably the only good thing that's come out of the Dumbledore family; Kendra Dumbledore being a wonderful cook. The man stares at little offering off food before he chuckles. _

_"Why thank you," he says courteously, taking the pastry. He overturns it in his gloved hands, as if he's never seen food before. "That's very kind of you. What's your name?" _

_"Albus," he replies, struggling with his name slightly. Then he beams when he is able to get it. "Albus! What's your name, mister?"_

_"Nicholas," says the blond man. "Nicholas Flamel. Can I ask what you're doing here? Shouldn't you be in school or helping your mum?"_

_Nicholas knows that this was the wrong question to ask by the way Albus' face suddenly turns sad. He stares at the ground, at his bare feet hitting the hot pavement, a blush on his cheeks. "I'm too young for school," he murmurs, embarrassed. "And mum doesn't want me in the house. I don't belong there." He sniffs. "There's no one in the Hallow to play with me either. I don't belong here."_

_"You don't, huh?" Nicholas says, voice a mere whisper. Albus looks up, curios what could cause the man to sound so weird. When he does, he sees the most tender look on Nicholas' face. "Well I'll tell you a secret, Albus." He leans forward, and so does Albus, because he wants to hear what the stranger has to say to him. "I don't belong here either." _

_He pulls away, smiling a smile that shone alongside the sun. Albus stares up in awe. Nicholas holds out his hands slightly, and spellbound like the child he is, he hugs the man. He immediately feels a kinship, feels safe with Nicholas, even though he was only warm because he stood in the son unwavering for so long. He hears a soft whisper in his ear, a voice he will never forget. "We can not belong here together, what do you say to that?" _

_Nicholas' answer is already clear in the large grin he receives. _

.:.

_to be continued.  
><em>


	3. Part III

Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiromu Arakawa  
>Harry Potter © JK Rowling<p>

**Written for **Laora (_Fuocoso_) **for her birthday. **(Have a good one, love. ;])

* * *

><p><strong>Inclined to Be<br>**_"We could be the same, no matter what they say." _

**Part III. **_  
><em>

* * *

><p>He stands there, not a drop of blood on his unraveled hands. The gloves are off. His attire messy, like he had been in a particularly bad roller coaster ride. Dark red marks curl over his slender fingers, twisting under the sleeve of his arm, no doubt spinning their way through the rest of his skin. Pieces of his hair are let loose, and they frame his pallid face. He is so pale Dumbledore wonders how he ever thought Edward once had pumping blood through his veins.<p>

Edward kneels down beside the dead body in front of him, killed in one instant lift of the finger, one look of golden eyes. Tom Riddle lay with his pale red irises, no longer seeing anything. Edward stares at the body for a long while. Dumbledore doesn't move. He waits for the blond's next move.

"He caused the largest rift in balance that I have ever seen," Edward murmurs. "It's amazing what humans can do, sometimes. They can go all their lives desperately reaching for something, even if it's way out of their reach." He closes his eyes and places two fingers to the man's temple. "I'm sorry this had to happen, Al," he whispers fervently.

Dumbledore does not know if Edward is talking about him (his childhood memories reminded him of the numerous times Edward called him "Al" fondly) or about someone else (because his tone is so distant and far-away) but he sits down beside Edward, a mere shadow of his former self.

"I knew it was going to happen," he says gravely. "At least...now, Harry won't have to succumb to the prophecy." He smiles, nostalgic. "Thank you, Nicholas."

"I did nothing but what I am to do," he replies, standing up. there's nothing short of simple agony in his eyes when he looks at Dumbledore's corporeal form, and then at the lifeless body of the once lively man just a few feet away, his face hidden by the shade of his hat and white sprout of his beard. "But...I honestly hoped it wouldn't have turned out this way."

_"AL! Give him back! You can't die!"_

Dumbledore, slowly fading into white mist, opens his mouth to say something—most likely to assure him—when the doors of the Department of Mysteries open, causing both to look over. There is five students, most of which Edward is unfamiliar with. But there they are, standing there, wands pointed before staring at the dimly lit area around them.

The one to speak first is Harry, noticing the lifeless body of his previous mentor. "What did you do?" he yells, horror-struck. "What did—who the bloody hell are you? What did you do to Dumbledore?"

"Calm yourself," Edward replies in his pragmatic way. "It's not like I'm all that happy that Albus is gone either." he spits out, slightly bitter. Hermione noticed the way his eyes flicker to the headmaster's body and then to Voldemort's on the floor and she gasps loudly, clutching at Harry's arm and dropping her wand. "Look!" she says, pointing with a shaken finger. "T-thats...he's—"

"Dead," Edward supplies helpfully. At their awed and disbelieving faces, Edward sighs and toes the former Dark Lord with a toe. He moves with the motion. "Piece of filth, if you ask me," he says out loud, slipping on the gloves that he oh-so-dutifully wears. "Good riddance he's dead. Now equilibrium can finally return."

A blond girl's eyes light up. "You have seen the equilibrium?" she asks, slightly excited. Her friends turn to look at her. Luna Lovegood doesn't speak much, after all. "That's amazing! Are you—"

"Yes." he interrupts, shooting her a slightly icy look that says, _don't say it out loud. _"If you haven't noticed yet...you should go back to Hogwarts. McGonagall will be worried...and there is no more threat to worry about."

"That's Voldemort?" Harry whispers, staring down at the pale, snake-faced man with an unknown emotion in his eyes. "Him? He's really dead?"

"Like a bug squashed under my foot," the blond reiterates softly.

Harry lowers his wand, staring at the body quietly. Hermione's arm on his shoulder squeezes, but he can't feel anything. That _menace,_ this _monster, _is finally gone. But he's still there, right in front of him, it was hard to believe...Harry took a deep breath, forcing himself to look away. "Get rid of him," he says, voice strained. "Please, get rid of him."

Edward raises an eyebrow, but snaps his fingers. Immediately, Voldemort seems to break in a million of small pieces, floating up in the sky and coming together in a way that makes him seem unrecognizable. He disappears in a small flash of white, and then noticed that Harry is looking at Dumbledore's corpse while the others stare at the place where Voldemort dissipated to. It seems like an unreal dream.

Harry takes a step forward to Dumbledore, and tears start to leak out of his eyes. There are no words for what he feels right now, and he can feel Hermione's breathy voice saying, "Oh, god...Harry..."

Edward makes it there before he can. He kneels down beside Dumbledore, the most ashen faced Harry had ever seen him. Feeling unnecessary rage bubble up in him, he shouts at the blond, "Did you do this? Did you kill him? How could you?" Hermione tries to get him to stop his running mouth, but Harry cannot control what he feels inside. It feels like a bubble that he can't seem to break.

Edward's eyes flash in something dangerous; Harry finds himself terrified at that little emotion, something that he had never seen from the blond apprentice before. He snarls, "Like you would know anything! You don't know _shit _about what goes on here. Dumbledore...Albus...Al was..." his shoulders droop, something disappearing from his expression. He suddenly seems so weary. "I didn't mean for it to be this way..."

"You're really Nicholas Flamel, right?" Hermione says quietly, biting her lip. "The great alchemist. The immortal alchemist."

Ron jumps in, confused. "But I thought that he died..."

Edward laughs, a bitter sound. "No, only the Stone's been destroyed." He shakes his head. "I can't die. I'm immortal." The words are spat out in disgust. Harry cringes. "I have been for over five hundred years."

"So...you created the Stone when you were sixteen?" Ginny says, trying to make sense of the whole thing. "You were that young?"

Edward stares at all of them with his glassy eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but then shakes his head and looks down again. "It doesn't matter, my past," he mutters. "Al's dead. The first student I actually liked..." he gives a morose chuckle. "Dead. I always knew this would happen, but I wished dearly that I wouldn't be here for this."

"I'm sorry," Hermione says quietly.

"If It helps any, I loved him too." Harry bends down, sitting on the dirt floor of the Department of Mysteries, the Veil just nearby. Ready, with it's pulsing power. Edward can feel it within his veins, like a heartbeat right beneath his skin. He has to leave soon. He doesn't want to leave. Forgetting for a moment, he looks up and over the students' heads, right at the figure standing behind them, smiling crookedly with blue eyes twinkling in mirth. _Like a little brother. _

"I have to leave soon," he says, suddenly finding it to be true. The pulse. The power. Flooding through him, he knew that he was done here. "I have to leave. I'm sorry." He turns to Harry and quirks a lip. "You can live normally," he tells him, slightly wistful. "Don't waste this chance, got it?"

"What—..."

Harry only begins to talk when Edward feels a little light inside of him, pulling him. He lets go of Dumbledore's cloth, standing up, staring at the teenage Albus, right there in front of him, so close...like Alphonse. His fingers break away like the middle of a transmutation. He starts to fade, breaking away in shattered pieces like Voldemort. And just as he's leaving, Albus smiles at him.

He smiles back.

Then it all vanishes the moment Edward feels a sharp pull in his gut.

.:.

_"Your price has been payed, Mr. Alchemist. My condolences. But not really."_

A voice rings in his head, endless and all-encompassing. It hurts to listen, but he does so anyways and grits his teeth to keep it out of his head. He can't even muster up the energy to greet Truth once more, question him about what the hell he was doing—_this was so different from when he usually transported to a different world_—but then, he feels the air escape from his lungs and suddenly his laid down on the floor.

"Dear Truth," he moans, sitting up and rubbing his back, getting rid of any rubble there is. Looking around, the place looks vaguely familiar; they are in an alley, and people pass them by while chattering excitedly. His head still spins from the trip. There is a groan, however, beside him and Edward's eyes widen.

His head snaps around, and he sees a familiar blond teenager. "Albus," he hisses, surprised. _The last time I saw you..._dead. Lifeless hows. _No, no_, no, _how can this be?_

Albus Dumbledore, fifteen years old, sits up and looks around him. He sees an alley, confused to why he's here, and then finally his eyes meet with Edward's. He is remarkably like the Alchemist, with bright blue eyes and a crooked smile, white-blond hair long and thick like a mane and tied back at the base of his neck. Just like his master. Edward feels like there's a sandpaper lump in his throat.

"Master," he breathes, and then scrambles up, helping Edward as well. Bemusedly, Edward looks down and sees that he is still in the traveling clothes that he wore in the Wizarding world, all black and drapes. "Are you alright? Where are we?" he says in rapid English, growing increasingly worried.

Shocked, Edward can only stand there for a moment, breathing, before shaking his head. _What game are you playing, Truth? _he thinks murderously, knowing that the all-powerful being can hear him. He feels oddly off balance here, and he doesn't like it. Taking a deep breath in—_his heartbeat is slower__—_he turns around. "Come, Albus," he commands. "We'll...I'll go find out where we are." _And find out purpose, _he thinks, blinking and coming out of the alley as dignified as he could.

What he sees surprises him.

_Amestrian,_ he thinks, as he sees a familiar sign across the road and is stunned into a stand-still. Albus, who was coming out behind him, bumps into Edward and the long-living alchemist realizes that there are people staring at them now. Albus is wearing wizard robes, after all—not fancy, but out-of-place. They both look out-of-place.

He turns around, scared, and sees the building he last wants to see.

"Central Command," he breathes out, amazed, a feeling of amazement settling in his chest as he speaks the word in Amestrian. His charge stares up at him, confused and curious, but Edward doesn't say anything for a moment. His gloved hand ghosts over his right shoulder, rubbing it reminiscently. He has this look on his face that tells Albus that he should ask no questions, so instead the teenager stands beside his master and keeps quiet.

(_Everything thinks he's too young for an apprenticeship, Albus. He's always wanted to prove them wrong, and Nicholas Flamel was happy to oblige._)

"We're in my world," Edward informs him finally, something thick in his tone. Albus is curious, looking around, tries to take in as much of his master's curious origins that he can. Edward rarely speaks of his home, and Albus is not going to lose this chance. "No one speaks English here, Albus, so I'm afraid that I'll have to translate..." Edward shoots him an odd look, which is not abnormal. "Come to think of it..."

Albus knows that when his master's voice trails off like that, he shouldn't say anything. Edward would have about a million different things running through his head, and speaking to him just might break the train of thought.

"There's a lot of researching to do," he says finally. "I have no idea why..." the blond shoots him another look, but then continues. "Why we're both here."

"Should we not be?" Albus asks curiously.

Edward presses his lips together. "If everything went as planned, no." His eyes flicker upward, just before he sighs. "Come. I need to see someone. I know that you may not understand anything, but I assure you...this place is okay."

"Yes, master," Albus says quietly, following after Edward as he makes his way through the crowd to the building in the distance, known as "Central Command".

"Hm," Edward says, standing right in front of the building where men and women swathed in blue walk around stiffly, "This is certainly going to be the most interesting visit I've had in five centuries." There's a gleam in his eye, lively and mischievous, and Albus cannot help but smile.

.:.

_**fin.** _

_I have left many __questions unanswered, yes, and many theories left undone. I'm going to allow one large, collective Author's Note, so pour your hearts out in the questions so I may answer them. The idea of a sequel is...iffy, because I originally meant for this to be open-ended, but if you really want...eh. I don't know. It depends on the person and their level of want, really. But he AN will be posted as soon as you guys can send me a few questions and I can clear things up. And no reviews like "AWESOME" or "this is great!". Give me something to work with, people. Thanks. :)_


	4. Author's Note

_As promised, the long awaited compiled Author's Note._

* * *

><p><em>I tried my best on this guys, I really did. I tried to capture everything I can to make sure you guys understood it. I only hope it helps with the magic and mystery of this story. So yeah. <em>

* * *

><p><strong>Inclined to Be<br>**_FAQ  
>or, "what the hell was that about?"<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Q: <strong>_How did five hundred years pass from Edward's time to Amestris' time?_

**A:** _Okay, this is something a lot of people don't get._ In my head, it works like this - Edward got taken from his world when he was sixteen. He struck a deal with the Gate - forever working for him as his "missionary" of some sort, restoring equilibrium and balance between dimensions when Truth can't (because he cannot interfere directly unless prodded by some sort of alchemical transmutation - Ed and Al's human transmutation, for example.) Amestris is part of the world most linked to the Gate due to their advanced alchemy (partially because of Hohenheim and the whole thing with Xerxes). Truth can fuck things up, you know. Time is mysterious, and works in many ways - he can make one day seem like fifty years for Ed.

Edward is sent to many different worlds and learns their customs. So far, he has been to the Wizarding world _four _times; one when it was back in the 1500's, posing as Nicholas Flamel. He had just discovered magic, so it's a possibility that he knows the founders of Hogwarts as well. Truth sucked him away from that world when he eliminated the threat there, but not before he created the theory for the Philosopher's Stone using alchemy and magic, leading people to believe he is immortal. Which, technically, he is. (He is stopped in time because of Truth, forever 16.)

The second time, he meets Albus, as shown in one of the flashbacks. He disappears quickly after that, removing the threat as well (these threats are unnamed, but Ed also gets rid of those who tip the balance before they are known). He is, however, forever instilled in Albus' memory. In the third time, he comes and sees that Albus Dumbledore has grown up and was formulating plans with his friend, Gellert Grindelwald, which Edward was sent to eliminate before he became the Dark wizard we know him as. However, he allows his feelings to get in the way and when Albus asks him to apprentice him, he can't say no. They work on the Philosopher's Stone together and manage to create one, but Albus keeps it after Edward left - forcibly taken by the Gate, unable to get rid of the threat in his small precedent time. The fourth time is the story that you an I know, _Inclined to Be. _

So Edward jumps in time a lot. But he counts how many years he spends in each realm, and adds it to his age. So even though he looks physically sixteen, mentally he's somewhere around 593, or possibly more. He's time hopping, suffice to say. And not once in all of this, has he been to Amestris. So, even though 500 years pass in his time, only one year has passed in Amestris. So it's 1916 in Amestris, because the whole Promised Day thing happened in 1915...when Ed was 16...and where the story starts.

* * *

><p><strong>Q: <strong>_Is Edward still immortal?_

**A: **_Yes, he is._ Well, he's supposed to be. So far, I haven't worked out if Edward should go back home - stay for good - or if he should be taken away. Because he's not supposed to be there, per say, and even though Truth said "your price has been payed"...hm. This is still being worked upon, but so far, I'm thinking of having him age slowly, probably slower than others. Just until he can get that immortal blood off him (because as I said before, he was essentially just stuck in one time period. Physically, that is.)

* * *

><p><strong>Q:<strong> _When did Edward leave his world? _

**A: **_Probably around the time in the last episode where he gives up his own alchemy for Alphonse's body back. _Except Truth offers a deal with him instead, and...well, yeah. You know the rest. We'll see the Amestrian's side soon, don't you worry.

* * *

><p><strong>Q: <strong>_How is Albus there? Is he a reincarnation, or brought back in time?_

**A:** _Well, no, not exactly. _If I brought Albus back in time, that would mess things up _totally _for the HP series, wouldn't it? Albus wouldn't grow up to be a professor at Hogwarts and bring Tom Riddle out of the orphanage. Voldemort wouldn't exist, and Harry would grow up a normal boy. Well, Gellert Grindelwald would be in power, because Albus was the one strong enough to defeat him. So things would be so screwed up...no, I'm not daring to grow there. And if Albus was a reincarnation, he would be reincarnated as something else, don't you think? A phoenix? Dumbledore's pretty fond of those.

No, I was thinking of something else. Because of Dumbledore's soul/spirit still staying behind as he died in the Department of Mysteries (which is why his soul stayed behind - after all, they _are _in the room of Death where the Veil/Gate is) somehow, he got pulled along with Edward when he was taken in the Gate. Because of that, Dumbledore's own timeline got messed up. So you could say he was revived from the dead...in a memory. He's not exactly alive, but other people can see him, like in HP. And he's in the age that most appeals to him - his teenage years, when he was at his peak of intelligence. I believe that people, or at least spirits, reside in the body of the time period they loved the most.

* * *

><p><strong>Q: <strong>_What happened in the Department of Mysteries with Voldemort and Dumbledore?_

**A:** _Oh, this is gonna be a woozy._

**Short answer? **Voldemort killed Dumbledore and Edward killed Voldemort.

**Long answer?** When Dumbledore arrived in the Dept. of Mysteries, it was because Ed was there to kill Voldy. He followed along because he thought it would help, and because he sensed a large battle up ahead. Voldy was there because he had planned the whole ambush upon HP with the fake vision of him torturing Sirius Black (see canon-Order-of-the-Phoenix) but was surprised when Dumbledore and Edward came instead. But he saw this as a good chance and had the Death Eaters flood them anyways, thinking that with Dumbledore gone, they would have a better chance at HP. So while Voldy and Dumbles duked it out in an epic wizard duel, Ed was right behind Voldemort.

Now see here - Edward was expecting Dumbles to only distract Voldy so that he could finish the job, but by then Voldy had let out the _Avada Kedavra _curse and it hit Dumbles. He fell, dead. Blinded by his rage and shock that his best student was dead, Edward reached out and willed Voldy to die (you can do that, apparently, when you're a missionary of the Gate and Truth) which caused them both to be dead. Enter HP and co., and there's your story. Yeah, I get there's a huge time gap (sorta) between Parts I/II and III, but it needed to be done. I needed to have all the time periods placed correctly, and there's only so many months you can write out.

* * *

><p><strong>Q:<strong> _What about the markings on Edward's hands?_

**A:** _Okay, yeah, I admit. _I stole that from _this is the end, _but that's my fic too so it's perfectly legal XD Anyways, it's sort of the mark of the Gate. Like a huge transmutation circle embedded into his skin. A walking, talking,somewhat-alive transmutation circle.

* * *

><p><strong>Q: <strong>_Will there be a sequel? _

**A:** _...Meh. _I don't know. I just explained this all to you - do you really want a sequel?

* * *

><p><em>So there you have it<em>. _All of those self-indulgent Authors' Notes bundled and packaged into one. And really, this was a birthday present for Laura ( a three-shot I actually finished ) and all I'm happy about is if she and you guys liked it. After all, I know Laura has a perchance __for large, complicated plots. :) __Thanks for reading. _

* * *

><p>.:.<p> 


End file.
